Straight Outta' The Recycle Bin (A 'Sicario' Fanfic Collection)
by NameBrandSnacks
Summary: Just a collection of Sicario-related fic from both films and in-between. I'm too lazy to post them all by themselves so they'll all be gathered here. They're also on my AO3 so I'm not stealing from myself. :P [You x Everyone - well mostly Matt, Alejandro, Steve (yes, him too), Reggie and Kate] / Rating subject to change when I eventually do smut!
1. You lucky bastard (Steve Forsing)

Hearing about it was bad, but seeing the news broadcast just seconds before your friends made their way into the compound made it even worse. Nobody was dead and just banged up but still kicking, and for once you felt a bit lucky to have not participated in most of the mission. Alejandro and the girl were missing, and you felt your hair stand on end.

_"You're gonna need stitches."_

_"Yeah. Lucky for me, I'll still need them tomorrow."_

You didn't hear the rest because walking human-rights violation Matt Graver had been called over by Cynthia Foards to talk in private, leaving you along with Forsing as he cleaned up some small wounds at the steel sink. You had never seen him without glasses, but they were off temporarily while he tended to some small cuts that had bled.

"Oh shit is that who I think it is?" you ask.

He nodded, "Little miss sunshine."

"Either we're fired or we all die if she's here.." you joke, cracking a small smile, "You okay, cowboy? I heard shit hit the fan, _hard_."

"The fuckin' Mexican police shot me."

A charmed grin spread across your lips, "I would say "you lucky bastard," but I feel like that would come back to bite me in the ass."

You and he shared a small laugh before waiting on Matt for what to do next. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife and you hadn't exactly told anyone you were seeing Forsing outside of work.

You remained as professional as you could before going into the briefing with Matt, Cynthia, Steve, and the POTUS himself. To say you were nervous would've been an understatement.


	2. Shabby Bars (Steve Forsing)

Full story title: _Shabby Bars Make Excellent Confessional Boxes_

* * *

_"I don't know what's emptier, my bank account or my love life—"_

Oh how you wished you had only _thought_ that, and now you tried avoiding any eye contact with the man sitting next to you. Matt and Alejandro were in the room interrogating the target while the other agent with you had gone off for a water break leaving you along with Forsing.

You wanted to deck the smug look off his face, but after seeing him double-tap each cartel member in that car not long ago, you decided against it, and punching your colleagues would look bad on the record. You were good with a submachine gun, but he was fucking lethal with a rifle even if he dressed like someone's dad.

"I can think of _one_ thing to work on first.." the bespectacled man next to you teased.

You roll your eyes, "We're on the job, and if Matt says to jump I say how high. And I'm doin' shit after he lets us off the hook anyway, I'm not hitting up bars with you just yet."

He wouldn't take no for an answer, but you weren't really doing anything that week anyway.

"Fine, I'll let you know when I'm free but no strip clubs." you told him, soon seeing the door open through the glass window in the building. You took that as your cue to return to the interrogation room, bracing yourself for what was left of the poor bastard on the inside.

_'CIA desk jockey to certified badass.'_ Matt's joke still echoed in your head and you wondered if shit like this was how you were going to finally be able to permanently work in the field like they did. Your Marine father jumped at the idea of you working with the CIA, but you didn't have the heart to tell him you were going to be stuck behind a desk until higher ups deemed you worthy of field work. At least now you'd have something to call home about, minus the _other_ details.

Eventually you found yourself riding shotgun with Forsing, although you had drowned out his talking while looking out the window. You nodded pretending to hear everything he had said; only responding when he mentioned alcohol.

"I'm getting the hard shit, I want to forget _everything_ I saw in that room.." There was a man in a red shirt making his way into the bar, and you felt your stomach turn queasy for a minute. With Matt telling Kate to sponge up everything she sees, you felt like that applied to you as well. He could see you getting quiet, immediately striking up a conversation to keep you from shutting him out.

"That blonde over there?" he asked.

You had already noticed her when you came inside, "Oh hell no, she doesn't have any of her shots and either too churchy, or liable to make you _itchy_." you whispered while leaning close to your shot of whiskey.

"Now you're just being mean."

"Oh she is nowhere in your league and not out of it either. Let her date a plowboy or some shit." A small laugh left your lips.

"Didn't you grow up on a farm?"

"We didn't work with crops Mr. Forsing, we worked with horses. Cutting, reining, roping, I spent a good portion of my youth in the saddle. My friends were horse people who rode English though, bless their souls, but they were good folks." you stated, feeling the alcohol taking over.

"What made you work for the government?" he asked.

"Because when I turned eighteen my daddy said I had to grow up and stop playing with ponies, even if I did win all sorts of awards from national events, he said I had to work for my country since I had no brothers. It was either the military or law enforcement, so I shot for the CIA instead."

As long as Matt never hears about any of this, you would be fine. If you knew Forsing as well as you did you figured this conversation would be just between the two of you.

"This is not some sob-story with a feel-good ending; I'm just doing what my gut tells me to do, that's life right? And well, I live in Texas; I still have three good horses where I currently live that my grade school friend helps take care of when I'm with you guys. So it's not such a lonely world for me is it?"

He nodded, motioning the waitress for another round of shots. It was then your alcohol soaked brain realized he was drinking. He was staying sober so you could finally kick back and loosen up. This wasn't even your first cartel gig, but one of many that you had lost count of because they were all starting to melt together. "Thank you, Steve, I appreciate you sacrificing a buzz just for me. I get it now, I gotta be like you guys and then it won't feel so bad every job."

You moved on to a different topic for once, and closing time rolled around before you knew it as he dragged you out of the bar and drove you back to your house. Although you wished he had told you sooner rather than during your hangover that Matt needed you for something else, and to babysit Kate during something about a bank. You brewed up a pot of coffee within record time before going to see your boss in something work-casual.


End file.
